


Two Dances

by quantumvelvet



Category: October Daye Series - Seanan McGuire
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-23
Updated: 2013-12-23
Packaged: 2018-01-05 16:27:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,329
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1096097
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/quantumvelvet/pseuds/quantumvelvet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Following Arden's crowning, Toby dances with two faerie kings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Dances

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Kass](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kass/gifts).



Of all the things Toby might have expected upon meeting the High King of the Westlands – immediate execution, or at the very least a formal duel over the number of times she'd endangered his son and heir, all unknowing of who he was chief among them – the very last possibility that had sprung to mind had been that he might ask her to dance. That Arden's formal investiture would take a turn for the festive had been inevitable, given both the nature of Faerie and the dark pall the former Queen's reign had cast over the Kingdom of Mists. That Toby would, eventually, be drawn out onto the dance floor, either by Quentin taking advantage of his position as her squire (while he still could; she couldn't imagine he'd be long for the role, now that the secret was out) to coax her into enjoying the party, or by Tybalt deciding this was a part of formal courtship was not quite inevitable, but was close enough for government work.

The High King, however, was a shock, and in the moment, she thought she might almost prefer an execution. Then, at least, she couldn't make a fool of herself. Though she hadn't made it to her own knighting without learning formal dance, she had nothing on the purebloods' grace, not even with the balance of her own blood shifted further from human than ever before.

A soft pressure on her back shook her from her shock – Tybalt, urging her forward, reminding her of her duties. She though she could feel a faint tremor of laughter through the warm weight of his hand before it fell away, and that humour was reflected in King Aethlin's eyes. That the High King was amused by the same thing that amused a King of Cats was not as comforting as she might wish. A cat's sense of humour, as she well knew, was often cutting.

Still, the reminder, and the prickle of irritation that followed, was enough to jar her out of her temporary vapour lock, and she executed a curtsey that felt just graceful enough to leave her feeling something less than grubby in her finery. Aethlin bowed only barely, and took her hand to lead her out onto the floor. She saw, before the first turn took them into the crowd, Tybalt turning towards the High Queen, all perfect feline arrogance. The High Court of the Westlands might have his respect, but it lacked his fealty. In that moment, Toby couldn't help but envy the Cait Sidhe.

Aethlin's hand was warm on her waist, and his grasp on her hand was just tight enough to lead her, and not so tight that she couldn't break away if she truly wished to. The calluses on that hand surprised her – the mark of a swordsman, and not one who took up the blade merely for practice. His hand felt, just a little, like Sylvester's, and she thought that if she closed her eyes, she could almost pretend it was her liege who led her, and not the most powerful ruler in all the Westlands.

And then the High King's magic broke over her, strong and scented like nothing familiar – though Quentin had received his looks from his father, clearly his own signature bore more resemblance to his mothers. Toby stumbled, and the High King stepped in, turning them a quarter round to transform the blunder into an apparent part of the dance. “A veil against eavesdropping,” he explained, and the humour in his eyes reminded her more than ever of Tybalt's. It still wasn't a comforting comparison. “My son speaks well of you.”

Toby mustered a smile, relieved he didn't know her well enough to see the depth of unease in it. Or perhaps he did; his hand loosened a fraction on her own, and he shifted away, far enough that she could feel the cool of the knowe's air between them. “He's a good kid,” she managed, the words feeling lame as they fell from her tongue.

Aethlin inclined his head slightly, one corner of his mouth quirking upwards. The expression reminded her, just a little, of Quentin's, when he and Raj were conspiring, unaware that anyone else was near enough to overhear. “I believe he will be a good king, in his time. I owe some of that to your tutelage.”

“I...” Toby paused as the words caught up with her, and blinked in startlement. “Wait, what?”

The king chuckled at that, low and surprisingly warm. “Does it surprise you, truly? You've seen well enough here the damage a bad ruler can do. Leading a kingdom is more than just wielding power. A wise ruler knows when to wield it, and how, and for whom.”

“I don't think anyone could accuse me of wielding power.”

“No?” Aethlin's eyebrows lifted slightly, as though underlining his disbelief. “Look at the allies you brought to bear. The Court of Cats, the Undersea, Shadowed Hills. Your own Fetch.” He paused a moment for emphasis before adding, “The Luidaeg. All of Faerie has feared the First for centuries. You thought to befriend one.”

“You...may have a point.”

Aethlin nodded gracious acceptance of the point scored. “You break boundaries where others would make them. You've taught my son to think for himself, not merely to follow tradition. You've taught him to think of those who are beneath him in station. You have, I think, taught him that a king rules at the sufferance of his subjects, and that a good ruler must bear that in mind, even as he upholds his laws.”

Toby managed, barely, to swallow a laugh, turning it instead into a cough. “I'm surprised you approve.”

“It's what his mother and I wanted him to learn.” Aethlin's smile, this time, was thinner. “You've seen what one poor ruler can do. I've cast down a dozen, in my time, and each had one thing in common. They believed that their right to rule was irrevocable, and that loyalty could be commanded, rather than being earned. Quentin was at risk for that, if he were raised entirely in my court. Now, he understands duty and sacrifice. He earned his place as your squire. He will earn his place as a knight, and, in time, as a king.”

“Wise words, from a king of the Divided Courts.” Toby jumped as Tybalt materialized, as if from nowhere, behind her left shoulder. He lay a hand on her arm, touch a shade warmer than Aethlin's. “If I may reclaim October...?”

It was not, quite, a request for permission. Another smile tugged at the corners of Aethlin's lips, and he inclined his head slightly in acquiescence, releasing Toby's hand. Tybalt tugged her to him, spinning her about in a swift movement, and deeper into the tide of dancers. The High King's magic burst, prickling across her skin as they passed beyond the boundaries of his privacy spell.

Toby eyed Tybalt narrowly, taking in his smug expression, which gave away nothing at all. “Rescuing me?” she wondered.

“Hardly that, little fish. If you wished to be shut of your king, I've no doubt you could start a riot on your own.”

“What, then?”

Tybalt shrugged, the gesture remarkably feline, despite his current form. “I wished a dance.”

“And you couldn't wait?”

“You were on the floor already, looking delightfully vexed.” His smug grin turned ever so slightly sly. “Besides, it does your royals good to be reminded, from time to time, that not all fae answer to the Divided Courts.” He paused, just for a moment. “Do you mind so very much?”

Toby sighed, masking the hint of laughter no better than she had with the last king with whom she'd danced. “Not really.”

“Good.” And he leaned down to claim her lips in a long, warm kiss, making a of them a brief island amidst the revellers.

In the end, Toby decided, dancing was better than an execution after all.


End file.
